River City Blues: A Grand Theft Auto Story
by Bottle Rocket Junkie
Summary: The sequel to The Land of Vice! In an Attempt to replenish the Versetti's failing funds, Michael Versetti arrives in River City to start a dope pushing business. But things don't go exactly as planned. The 10th and final chapter is up! Violence!
1. Prologue

River City Blues: A GTA Story  
  
Foreword: This is River city blues: A gta Story, the follow up to The Land of Vice. It's and original GTA fic except for some of the chracter's, following Fido's( Michael Versetti) Explotis in a northeren city known as River City. I guess the fun in making an Original story is you can have any type of feel to it, I'm goign ot want River City blues to have a "Pulp Fiction" type feel to it. And away we go.  
  
Chapter One: A new Epic unfolds.  
  
VICE CITY, FLORIDA June 23 2003 Vice city was a tourist delight. Sandy, sunwashed beaches, shopping outlets, golfing. Your average tourist attraction. No one really ever suspected it of wrong doing. But this was a swell covering for corruption. Dope wars, Gang wars, contract killings, prostitution rings, shotouts, drug deals, the perfect essence for a degraded sanctum. In the middle of all this one crew owned it all, strecthing back to Vice City's prime era; the 80's. Traveling back to a 35 year-old ex-con. Sporting a Blue hawaiin shirt and wielding a loaded .45, this man was, ladies and gentlemen;  
  
Tommy Versetti.  
  
A man so powerful, the real life image of Brian DePalma's "Scarface". With M16 in hand, he killed his way to the top, starting out small time and siezing it all by killing one man, losing his grip on everything, but making a comeback by killing his Ex Boss Sonny Forelli.  
  
The Versetti crime family controlled large parts of Vice City. They own the beach store front, the Auto mart's, the Wrecking yard, The Hotel's, The Resturaunts, the strip clubs, night clubs and Kauffman Cabs. They were raking in atleast 100,000 dollars a month from their assets, and even more from the stock markets. they were a crime ring powerhouse. But about two months they started losing grip again. Due ot one young man.  
  
Michael Versetti.  
  
Yes Michael Versetti, Tommy's Nephew. Known to Liberty City as Death in a Bomber Jacket", Mike had traveled down south looking for financial backing to start a cirme ring in Liberty city. But he was also followed by some old foes, A Yardie Street gang and his Ex- Girlfriend Maria Leone. She and her crew made up of a mix of Haitians and Jamacians raised hell in Vice City, Bombing Bridges, robbing Versetti Assets and Engaging Tommy and His Nephew in Gunfights. Mike eventully brought her down(after she put his uncle in Coma) by making her helicopter carrying her crash into the Leaf Links Bridge, Irritating city officials even more.  
  
After the Death of Maria the remainder of her crew trashed some Versetti businesses and safehouses, torching them. They kidnapped members of the Versetti protection squad known as The Mario's, Torturing and mutillating them. Trying to make them crack for vital information about weak spots in the Versetti empire. But due to their extreme loyalty they never answered. Lance Vance, The current temporary operator of the Crime family, Layed smack down on the Reamining White Yakuza by calling out the Versetti Outfit, 20-30 of the toughest metal man's in America. They violently layed waste to the Jamacians and Yardies, at the same time making an example to the rest of Vice city; Don't screw with us.  
  
Now months later after the ordeal Lance Quentin Vance and Michael Versetti sit on the Deck of The Front Page Bar, Discussing plans for spreading the business up north over lunch. Lance is formal in a White Soiree' with a matching white shoulder holster for S&W Model 659 while Mike on the other hand is casual in a black un-bottoned shirt and green cargo pants, his feet on the table, with a brown leather shoulder holster for his colt .45. Let's see what they are planning  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
" So what do you think?" Lance asked me taking a sip of his Vodka Martini.  
  
I shook my head. " I don't know Lance, i replied unsuringly. " It's a big risk at this stage of the proceeding's, I mean with all that's going on right now, My Uncle in A Coma, The Versetti's Empire hanging by a thread. I mean if we botch this thing Tommy will have our heads when he wakes up." I finished my Scotch on The rocks and continued. " Starting a dope pushing business from scratch in unmarked territory is dreaduflly risky."  
  
" Yeah, But if we can restore the Family's funds when Tommy wakes up, he'll be fuckin' A grateful." Lance said finishing his Martini.  
  
" And if not?" I asked him in a matter-of-fact like tone. Hew sighed.  
  
" Then were both dead." he replied looking away. I thought on the subject for a second. " Seems like a challenge." I said intrigued. " Whats the plan?"  
  
" Jumping right into business Lance straightened his tie. " it's pretty simple, up north there's a city called 'River City' feels alot like Liberty so you'd be right at home. I'm gonna send you up there, you scope it out, get familiar with the territory, the street gangs, see who's running what."  
  
" Simple enough." I said crumpling my napkin into a ball. " So after I aqauint myself with the place then what?"  
  
"I'll send up some men , money, drugs and firepower to help you jump start the business. Start hiring dope pushers too. Spred the stuff around and affirm your position over the city." Lance replied.  
  
" Piece of Cake." I said grinning.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	2. Chapter 1: The City by the River

River City Blues: A GTA story.  
  
Chapter2: Arriving in the city by the River.  
  
METROPLIS AIRPORT, RIVER CITY. A large Boeing 747 landed on the cracked asphalt of Metroplis airport, It's large rubber tires clawing into the black top. The Plane carried a whole load of travelers from across the country. Including a particular passenger from Florida. A man by the name of Michael Versetti. He wore a tattered bomber jacket with holes in the back, and green cargo pants. He had a duffel bag slung over his hsoulder as he walked out of gate 45 and looked out the large glass windows of the front of the airport.  
  
The city was dark and dismal. In River city, it always rained. Michael stepped through the metal detectors out the front doors. He motioned for a taxi to pick him up.  
  
And thats when it hit him.  
  
Something blunt hit the base where his neck met the back of his head. He fell down hard, his jacket scuffed by the pavement. Hands grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and snatched him up off the ground. He was pushed into the back seat of a waiting Black colored Sentinel. He was pushed to the floor of the vehicle and the muzzle of a 9mm dug into his neck.  
  
" Shit shit shit shit" He thought to himself.  
  
" You speak you die you piece of shit." A voice spoke into it's ear, the odor of alcohol in their breath. The heel of a boot dug into his back. He face was being smothered into the car's interior carpeting. And then, Michael blacked out.  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
Michael woke up with a sudden jolt.  
  
" Get up you stupid shit." Said hte same voice. He was pulled up again up onto his feet. His duffel bag was missing now.  
  
Shit I must've lost it when I was jumped. He thoguht to himself. He looked aorund and found himself in an alley. His attackers shoved him along through an open rusted steel door. The 9's barrel dug into his neck like a frozen icicle. They were walking rapidly down a dimly lit hall. Mike still hadn't identified his kidnappers. At the end of the narrow hall was a wooden door. A gloved hand reached out and knocked on it twice.  
  
" Come in." A voice from behind it spewed.  
  
The gloved hand yanked the door open and threw Michael in. He sutmbled in, falling to the thick red carpeting. The room was dark, the only light came from a fixture overhead. the only illumination showed part of hte carpeting he lay on, a desk and a shadow shrouded ifgure in a high back chair.  
  
" Good evening Mr. Versetti." A voice ejaculated from the dark figure. " Please have a seat."  
  
Two other dark figures emerged from hte shadows. One holding a comfortable looking chair and the other one dragging Mike up to his feet. The figure with the chair put the piece of furniture infront of the desk, while the other sat Michael down in it. As soon as he was seated, the figures disappeared back into the shadows.  
  
" Well, well, well Mr. Versetti." The Voice spewed yet again. It was a dark voice, hinted with evil.  
  
" The hell do you want with me?" Mike aksed the dark figure. The mystery person let out a chuckle.  
  
" I've heard of you Mr. Versetti." The voice replied. " In Liberty City your known as deaht itself. I hear talk on the streets you want to impose on my business."  
  
" And what business would the be?" Mike asked him. Damn was his head killing him.  
  
" Gun running." The voice replied dryly.  
  
" And just who the hell are you?" Mike demanded.  
  
The figure leaned forward in it's chair. The shadows pulling away revealing his face. He was about 30-ish, with dark brown hair, and green eyes. He wore a black Armani suit, his fingers were covered in gold rings.  
  
" My name is Mr. Grant." He replied extending a hand. Mike accepted and shook it. " I would liek to put you to work in this town."  
  
" Oh so jumping me and putting a gun to my head is your calling card?" Michael asked smugly making a mock gun with his hand and pressing it to his temple. " And what exactly would I be expecting in your employment Mr. Grant?"  
  
" Why, I've heard of your reputation Mr. Versetti." Grant replied wringing his hands together. " All the bank jobs you've pulled, all the Mob bosses you've iced. I've heard it all. And what I want you to do is soem smuggling work."  
  
" And if I refuse to work for you?" Michael asked.  
  
" Well I doubt you will after you see my offer." Replied Grant pulling a black attache' case out from behind his desk. He snapped it open revealing hte mountain of green backs in it and then snapped it closed. " But even still, if you refuse...well why I'll have to kill you."  
  
The omnious click of a gun lock dry firing echoed somewhere in the room.  
  
" Alright." Michael said. " I'll do it, seeing as I have no money. So what's the first job?"  
  
Grant nodded and snapped his fingers. The blunt object came down on his neck again and he black out for the second time that day.  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
" Wake up you weak ass." A voice rang in my ears.  
  
I woke up, my head was pounding. My vision was blurry, smears of color and light. In the backround I could hear the distant groan of The Sex Pistols " Anarchy In the UK". Rain pounded against windows far off, something cold was pressing against my neck.  
  
I sat up and rubbed my eyes my vision coming back into focus. I reached ot the back of my neck and touched it. It stung with a fierce cold, it was an ice pack. I ripped it off and threw it away and felt hte psot it was ocvering. It was bruised and hurt to the touch. Damn that Grant, I thought to myself. My bomber jacket was missing.  
  
All of a sudden a face appeared before me.  
  
" You ok?" He asked.  
  
I yelped and jumped back. The face was topped with green hair, a few safety pins pierced his ears(a ciggarete behind the left one). His lips was pierced with a ring. Over his green mop he wore a black stitch hat with a red anarchy symbol stitched on it. He wore dog tags around his neck.  
  
" Who the hell are you?!?" I demanded.  
  
He chuckled and extended a hand. " Oz's the name, gun runnin's my game. Anarchy brothers weapons smuggling, A branch division of the Grant crime ring."  
  
I declined his handshake but help myself to the smoke behind his ear. With the fag in my mouth I asked; " So you gun runners got calling cards now?" I patted myself down looking for my lighter, yet did not find the zippo.  
  
" Well it's a formal business really." Oz replied lighting my smoke with his own zippo. I took a puff and exhaled, enjoy my first smoke of the day.  
  
" So How did I end up at your doorstep?" I asked stretching my neck. He replied with;" Well Grant's men dropped you off at my doorstep, told me your my new partner. Oh which reminds me."  
  
He walked away from me, giving me a chance to observe my surroundings. I was in a garage, maybe a pay and spray I don't know. The room I was in used to be a garage part, now converted into Oz's room. Posters of various punk bands lined the walls; The Sex pistols, the Clash, The Ramones, Gutter mouth, yellow card, greenday, Pennywise. A large variety. On a metal desk in the corner facing away from the wall was a nice Dell computer. I was sitting on a bed, un-made with a black bedspread. the ed itself just was two-three matresses on the floor. The floors was carpeted okay. But there was an supicous stain in the carpeting.  
  
I got up rubbign the back of my neck and walked into the next room. The next room appeared to be the dining area/ kitchen. A counter lined one wall, covered in dirty dishes and silverware, also with a dented microwave and toaster oven. A fridge sat in the corner next to the counter. On the opposite wall next to a half partition seperating the kitchen and the front room was a counter covered in empty ammo boxes and gun part kits, along with a few bar stools infront of it.  
  
The next room was probably the living room, a door to my far right was probably the bathroom. On the left wall was a torn up ratty couch( a lump under wrinkled news papers dozed soundly) , infront of it was a crooked coffee table littered with beer bottles and a small pile of money next a to a nickel plated Berretta M92 with custom grip. Oz was digging in the front closet for soemthing large and heavy.  
  
" What are you looking for?"Michael asked him.  
  
" You'll see." He replied.  
  
What he brought out was a large aluminum case. He brushed the stuff off the coffee table and put the case on the table. He unsnapped case and flipped open the lid.  
  
Handguns incased in foam peered back at me from the case.here were about 10 in the case, smith and wessons 9mm's, Glocks, Berretta's, IMI Desert Eagle. I ran my hand over a nickel plated colt .45, a full loaded magazine in the foam incasing next ot it. I picked the gun out of it's shell and inserted the fresh clip, chmbering a round.  
  
" Go any .45 rounds?" I asked hims. " Oh and some magazines."  
  
Oz nodded and walked over to a book case next to the Tv and PS2. He puleld a box down and rifled through it. He hten pulled out and ammo box rubberband bound with 4 single stack colt M1911 issue magazines. He handed the bundle ot me. I tore open the box and loaded all four magazines.  
  
" Where's my jacket?" I asked Oz.  
  
Oz pointed to a chair in the corner, my old jacket sat on top of it. I scooped it up and slipped it on, making sure my zippo was still there. Then I stuffed the loaded magazines in my coat pockets.  
  
" So, Oz whats on the agenda today?" I asked him.  
  
" We're gonna kill a man today Mr. Versetti." He said slipping on his mohawk skull hoodie.  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
The projects in the mission district, that was where our target resided.  
  
It was an old building, the bricks it was built on rotting away. Oz and I drove down there in his Black Stallion convertible. Oz stopped the car out front and cut the engine, putting the car in park. He pulled out a S&W Model 29 revolver from the glove compartment and snapped open the cylinder seeing if it was loaded. He snapped it closed and layed down our plan of action.  
  
" Here's wat I want you to do." He said. " Go around back, to the fire escape. Out target's room is on the 3rd floor. Check it out, Grant though told me htere is only about 4 guys maybe."  
  
" We hsould've brought shotguns for this Oz." I said.  
  
" We'll be fine." He said. " Now i'll be waiting in the stairwell for your signal, which is when you fire the first shot."  
  
" Alright." I said. " What are we getting here?"  
  
" 70,000 dollars in cahs." Oz replied. " It's money stolen from Mr. Grant by these wackjobs."  
  
" Alright, good enoughfor me." I said jumping out of the Stallion. I walked briskly around back of the rutty old building and pulled the fire escape ladder down. I jumped up on it and pulled myself up. I climbed the metal stairs, 3 floors up and peered into the target's apartment. I was looking into a bedroom there was a pile of cash lying on the bed next ot a 12 gauge pump action. A toilet flushed somewhere in the room, and a grungy looking man with no shoes lumbered into view. I leaned back and threw myself through the window.  
  
The glass shattered around my bulk as I flew through the window. I crashed into the man knocking him over. He let out a oompf as I knocked his lights out. There was a nickel plated revolver in his belt. I pulled it out to find it being a model 629. I checked the load, it was full. I picked up the shotgun and threw it out hte window into the alley below, hten I drew my .45. It was way better ot have two guns then one. I heard some shuffling in the other room. I creaked the bedroom door open and peeked itno the living room. There was a guy laying on the couch and a guy sitting on a LA-Z-BOY recliner, both watching Jeopardy. Their guns layed on the table. A erfect oppurtunity. I stepped out from behidn the door raised the revolver to eye level at the back of the head of the guy in the recliner and plled the trigger.  
  
BOOM!  
  
Blood and brain matter splattered the Tv infront of him, Alex Trebec's head disappearing in a gray splotch. The guy on the couch jumped up suddenly alarmed and fell of the couch. He reached for his gun, i raised my .45. Our eyes locked.  
  
" Hi." I said, and puleld the trigger. Bam! The .45 round tore through his ksull and flesh splattering the couch. He slumped to the floor, dead. Oz rushed into the room, Revolver raised.  
  
" Oh take all the fun will you?" He asked me.  
  
BOOM!  
  
A hole tore throguh hte bathroom door, close range shotgun blast barely missing Oz's head. Another guy broke out of the toilet wielding a sawn off. Oz and I raised our weapons and fired.  
  
BOOM BOOM BAM BAM BOOM BAM BOOM BOOM BAM BAM BANG!  
  
We kept pulling the triggers, emptying our guns into the toilet thug. He slumped down, full of hot lead. I pulled a rag out of my pocket and wiped down the revolver, which i then unloaded the spent rounds nad tossed away. I then ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one. The ugn's slide lockign into place.  
  
" Find the money?" Oz asked me.  
  
" Yeah, in hte bedroom." I replied. " Next to the concked out guy, but don't forget to kill him."  
  
" Right." Oz said. He wlaked into the bedroom, a second later I heard one last shot and I knew my adventure in River City was just beggining.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	3. Chapter 2: Quadruple homicide

RIver City Blues Chapter 2  
  
Ryan Gunner, a simple River City homicide detective. He just got an MDK from the projects in the mission district. He pulled his dented black Kuruma up to the curb infront of the apartment building. It was raining as usual. There were a couple of other RCB Black on White cruisers outside already. Ryan took a deep breath, checked the Glcok 17 strapped in his holster and got out of his car. He walked around the car and up the stoop of the building.  
  
Inside the stairwell landing a few cops mulled around aimlessly. Det. Gunner walked passed htme and up the steps to the 3rd floor, the crime scene. On the 3rd floor a few more flatfoots questioned neighbors about what happened. Ryan passed them into the crime scene. The door to the apartment was open, the door way was criss-crossed with the standard yellow POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape. Ryan ducked under them to get into the apartment.  
  
The small apartment was littered with police. CSI unit took pictures of every part of the room, other cops dusted for prints. Gerald Manns, a portly, dark skinned bearded African American Detective wearing a grey suit walked up to Gunner.  
  
" What do we got here Manns?" Gunner asked looking aorund the crime scene, he glanced over at the mutilated heads of the two corpses by the TV and winced.  
  
" The two over by the TV." Manns began with the usual rundown. " Shot in the head, one with a .44 the other with a .45. We're running a backround check. The other one in the bathroom." Manns pointed to an open bathroom door across from the two shot in the head. A CSI agent looking over a body riddled with bullet holes. " That one's full of .45's and .44's, and then one more in the bedroom." He said pointing a room in the back. " One back there, broken glass everywhere. The body was shot two times in the temple with a .44. Now for evidence, we foud a 12 guage on the corpse in the toilet, two 9mm's on the table in front of the TV. A .44 on the floor over there, and a few spent .45 and .44 casings and one used shotgun shell on the floor."  
  
" That all?" Gunner asked him. " Well we did find another guage in the alley but were not sure if its related to this mess." Manns replied. " How many guys do you think pulled this off?"  
  
" More than 1, maybe about two." Gunner said picking up the Stainless steel .44 off the floor. He snapped open the cylinder finding it empty, he snapped it shut and sniffed it. It was fired. " Had to been more than 1 after seeing the toilet corpse right there" He said. " I've no idea who could pull it off. Maybe that gun runner R.H. Grant?"  
  
" Maybe." Manns replied. ============================================================================ ======  
  
A few blocks away from the projects Oz and Michael were having breakfast at Joe's diner. They sat at a table enjoying a cup of coffee, Oz had his right arm rested on a black attache' case. It was still raining outside.  
  
" So how did you get into Mr. Grant's business?" I asked him. Oz snuffed his ciggarete out in an ashtray.  
  
" Well, River city is full of gun runners. Hell this town is called by reputation; "Smuggler's city." He replied. " I guess I got into business when my Dad died. He had a pretty good rep in htis otwn as one."  
  
A Few tables away from Mike's and Oz's table, a man in a black trenchcoat got up, crumpling his nampkin into a ball and reaching inside his coat.  
  
" So what's your angle Mike?" He asked me. " Why did you come to the city by the River."  
  
" Well, the Versetti drug empire down in Vice city got me to come up here." I Explained. " You know to replenish the familie's funds. But that's all you need to know."  
  
The Man in the duster made his move.  
  
" ALRIGHT!" He screamed pulling a Berreta 9 millimeter out of his coat." NOBODY FUCKIN' MOVE OR I'LL START POPPIN' HEAD LIKE THEY WERE ZITS!" But the few people in the diner did not heed his words, they all screamed and dropped to the floor. " GOOD ENOUGH, NOW WHERE ARE GRANT'S GOPHERS?!"  
  
No one replied. " Shit." Oz said quietly. He pulled out his heavy revolver from under his hoodie and hid it udner the table, I got my .45 ready. The gunman scanned the room and saw in the back corner booth.  
  
" There you are!" He said relieved. He walked up to us, brandishing the gun infront of him. when he reached our table, he took a fistful of Oz's hair in his hand and screamed in his ear; " GIVE ME THE FUCKIN' MONEY!"  
  
" Bad move, Asshole." Oz said gritting his teeth. " NEVER TOUCH MY FUCKIN' HAIR!"  
  
Oz knee'd the guy in his gut, the gunman grunted and toppled down onto him. Oz freed himself from the man's grip and snatched the back of his head. He slammed the guy face first into the table, making the coffee cups on it rattle in their saucers. Oz jabbed his revolver into the back of hte guy's neck.  
  
" Who sent you?!" Oz demanded.  
  
" Fuck you, you piece of shit!" The gunless gunman screamed back.  
  
" Who sent you!? Oz said, pulling the hammer back on his revolver. The mna sighed and said; " The Outfit! Alright?!"  
  
" Alright." Oz said pulling back his gun. " Go, get out of here and tell Bruno if I ever see any of him or his goons in Grant's business he'll fucking pay."  
  
Oz let the gunman off the table as he dusted himself off. With his trenchcoat in a lfurry, he sped out thedor. Oz put his revolver in his waist band and looked at me. " Get the case." He said. I nodded and picked it up. Oz layed a 5 on the table to pay for the coffee. He picked up the 9mm off the floor and handed it tothe owner who appeared usddenly out form behind the counter.  
  
" For better Robbery defense." He siad. The owner looked confused. We headed out the door as the bell chimed behind us.  
  
To be continued. 


	4. Chapter 3: formal business

River City Blues Chapter 3: China Town and Mark's garage  
  
Michael found out Grant's hideout was located in an abandoned night club, on the edge of the entertainment district of River City. It was the same place where Grant's kidnapper's had taken him yesterday when he arrived in town. The entrance to his office was in the side alley, the door closely gaurded by two thugs armed with Mac 10's. Oz parked his old Stallion out front and got out, Mike followed carrying the case of money.  
  
We walked to the service door in the alley. Two Guard's 's were there, One sitting on an ratty old couch opposite the door, he wore a black suit and a had short brown hair. The other leaned with his back against the wall cradling his Ingram, he wore a black trench coat and had a mop of medium colored brown all over his head. Oz walked up to him casually and said; " How goes things Roland?"  
  
Roland straightened up and replied with:" Nothin' much Oz. How bout you?" In a Scottish accent.  
  
" We're here to see Grant." Oz said coolly. The man on the couch reached for his Mac 10 sitting next to him. Roland held up his hand for him to stop. " Ya' know, official business and all." Oz finished.  
  
Roland thought for a moment and nodded. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door opening it for us. We walked past him and he followed us in. we walked yet again, down the dark narrow hallway. Through the door at the end of the hall and we found ourselves in Grant's office.  
  
" What is it now?" He asked from behidn his desk, he was ready a copy of the River City newspaper.  
  
" We got your money Grant." Oz spokeup. " But the Outfit came after us to get it."  
  
Grant looked up suddenly from his newspaper and said: " What?! The Outfit?! Shit!"  
  
" What do we do?' I asked him. grant looked up at me confused.  
  
" We teach them a lesson I guess." Grant said rubbinghis chin. " Oz listen up. Go to Mark's place, tell him I told you to hook you up. I'll call over there right now, and when you get there he'll tell you what to do."  
  
" Alright.' Oz said. And with out Grant Telling us another word we were out the door and on our way.  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
At the moment Ryan Gunner was in China town. He wanted to see a man there, wnet by the handle of Charlie Wong. Small time delivery boy, but used to be big in the gun smuggling business. If Det. Gunner wanted to find R.H. Grant, Charlie Wong would know where he was.  
  
Mr. Chong's house of noodles made deliveries all over Chinatown and nearby parts of that area. Down on Peaking street Gunner found Wong delivering a order of Kung Pow chicken to an upstairs apartment. Gunner parked outside across the street and waited. He always despised Chinatown, It was too obtuse so to speak. Brightly red colored banners and multicolored paper lamps hanging over the street, Gunner always had a vague discomfort with apaper laterns. Ever since he was a kid and his parents threw a party on their patio, one caught fire. Bad memories. Another thing he hated about chinatown was that all the signs were in Chinese, it made Ryan think they were mocking him.  
  
Gunner got out of his Kuruma to stretch his legs a bit and found Wong coming out of the apartment. He got on his bike and did a uturn on the street, ignorign passing traffic. He rode up onto the sidewalk Gunner was on and rode towards, not even noticing the Detective. Not until he was 2 feet away.  
  
WHAM!  
  
Gunner clotheslined the delivery boy. Charlie flew off the bike and landed on the pavement. He reached down and pulled wong up by the lapel of his jacket. He helped dusted him off. The Chinese delvery boy was outraged.  
  
" What the hell gunner?!" He exclaimed. " I sue you for nearly breaking my fuckin' back!" Charlie had that annoying Chinese accent, the one that made people sound like dolts. Gunner rolled his eyes and said; What do you know about R.H. Grant's doings these days?"  
  
" Nothing mon." Wong said. " Sides, Why I tell you anything? I should put you on citizen's arrest for-"  
  
Fed up Gunner grabbed Wong by the arm and spun him aroudn pinning his arms behind his back. He pushed him against his car and frisked him.In an ankle holster he found a Beretta 9000s. He pulld it out and looked it over, giving a whistle of awe.  
  
" Beretta 9000s 9mm, nice piece ya got here Wong." He said letting the Delivery boy free. " You do know your on parole, so why are you carrying a concealed weapon?"  
  
" Ack. I'm on bad terms with Triads." Wong replied scratching the back of his head. " I'm afraid they may come after me, seeing as I never paid them back when I was sitll in the business."  
  
" Oh so maybe the Triads know what R.H. Grant is up to these days." Gunner said.  
  
" It your funeral man." Wong said.  
  
" Well then I hope you don't live to be a pallbearer." Gunner said opening the passenger door of his Kuruma for Wong. The delivery boy sighed and got in.  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
Mark's auto repair, a seedy little place in the midst of wrogn side of town. It was a small building, covered in grime and graffitti that fouled up it's pale green paint job. The shells of old cars, rusted and burnt were strewn around the yard among hte tufts of dead grass and patches of dirt. The L train roaored over head of the Garage, a cheap sheet metal sign hung lopsided over otp of hte ubilding. Spray painted on it were hte words: MARK'S AUTO REPAIR.  
  
Oz pulled the Stallion up to the curb and put it in park. I looked at the hsady building and hten over at Oz. He nodded and I sighed, getting out of the car. We wlaked past the skeletal remains of vehicles and up to the metal shudder that guarded the the garage from outside. Oz yanked a door in the hsutter open and led the way in. The garage bay was even worse then the outside itself, tools hung crooked on the racks, a hydraulice lift lay broken; a large axe imbedded into the face of the control panel. There was probably a whole bottle of motor oil spilled on the ground, along with a dented tool box lying face down as well. The drown of a Tv emitted from somewhere in the shop.  
  
We found Mark in the shop office, he was sitting behidn a large steel desk. His feet propped up on the desk top, watching Tv. Behind him were stacks of repair manuals and auto magazines. He was a slob, his shirt was covered in stains, he was very badly unshaven. He held a beer in one hand, and had uncombed greasy hair. He let out a burp and looked up at us.  
  
" The hell you want?" He slurred.  
  
" Grant said to hook us up with some firepower for a job." Oz said spitting on the floor.  
  
" Wha-?...Oh yeah, that." He said. He pointed to a rusty steel cabinet in the corner. " Over there."  
  
Oz briskly walked over to the cabinet, and yanked the door open. He scanned the inside and reached in pulling somethings out. They were an Mossberg 500 cruiser model pump action 12 gauge and an MP5K. He handed the Submachine gun, and kept the Shotgun.  
  
" You do know how to use one of those?" Oz asked me. I looked over the gun and smacked the operating bolt down.  
  
" Beautiful." He said loading shells into his shotgun. He turned to Mark. " So who're we killing today?"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	5. Chapter 4: The Hit

River City Blues  
  
Chapter 4  
  
"You ready?" Oz asked me as he shifted the Sentinel into second. I nodded back. The car was gaining speed, the engine roaring. We swerved through traffic avoiding hitting passing cars. the people who walked by on the strip turned to colorful blurs. We were quickly approaching a corner Cafe' that sat on a sharp corner in the business district, our target(s) current position.  
  
Wham!  
  
We plowed into hte eating area of the Cafe', green folding chair flying in every which direction. The few people sitting outside on a day like today scattered like cochroaches when the lights go on. 4 men sat at a table next to the cafe's front door. Two wore suits while the other two wore long black trenchcoats. Oz stopped the car with a jolt and pulled himself out through his window, shotgun in hand. I leaned out the window with my MP5k. The men took one look at us and freaked out. Oz and I fired, both hitting one of hte men in the suits (whom was terribly balding) and his body gaurd who was pulling a H&K PDW out of his coat. The other man and his bodyguard took of into the Cafe'.  
  
Oz jumped out of the stallion and strolled quickly over to the guys we had just shot up and checked for a pulse. They were dead. I pulled myself from the car and ran into the cafe' after them. I ran through the eating area and jumped over the counter into the kitchen. I found my way through the maze of cooking equipment and people shouting orders, and found the back door. As I turned the corner past a parition automatic fire rang out in the kitchen. I stumbled back, barely missed getting shot. I looekd over and saw the bodyguard storm out the back door. I got back on my feet and slammed through the door into the trades alley.  
  
To my left was boarded up and littered by a dumpster full of trash. To my right down towards hte open end of the alley, was the other man in the suit and his hired hand not far behind making their grand escape. I ran after them, firing my subgun wildly. My shots connected with the body guard's back cutting him down. But I was going ot lose my target if I didn't keep up. I tossed away my weapon and drew my .45 to go faster. The man in the suit had gotten to the end of the alley and onto the street when-  
  
WHUMP!  
  
He collided with front side of Oz's sentinel. He landed on the hood skidding to the other side and landing out of side. Oz jumped out of his vehicle toting his 12 guage. I ran around to the other side and kept my glock trained on the target, whom was sitting up against the front left tire. His name was Sven Vlashnikov, a well respected figure in the Russian mob scene. He wore a black suit and had a large burn scar on his right cheek. His face was always a scowl.  
  
Oz bent over and reached inside Sen's coat, pulling out a Makarov. He ejected the clip and tossed the small handgun into the gutter. I heard sirens approaching.  
  
" Shit, what do we do?" I asked Oz.  
  
" We'll take him to the stack boxes." He replied.  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
" You sure this is the place?" Gunner asked Wong.  
  
" Yeah, this where I deliver all the time." He replied nervously wringing his hands. " They check everyone for weapons, with a 12 guage in your face."  
  
" Interesting." Gunner said looking at the building. " So how come they never found your piece?"  
  
" I just bought that gun today." Wong replied. " 250 dollars, you gonna give it back?"  
  
" Nope, consider that I did you a favor and kept you from breaking your parole." Gunner said. " Now get out of here."  
  
Wong grumbled and got out of the Karuma, slamming the door shut behind him. Wong walked furiously odwn the street, his hands shoved in his pockets. They were in the lower part of China town, a part littered with seedy joints. The place Wong had pointed out to The Detective was a two story building, a Chinese Butcher on the ground floor and a apartment on the top floor. In a trades alley behind the butcher's and a unmarked building(probably a crack house; Gunner thought to himself.) there was a set of metal stairs leadign up to a blue door marked trades.  
  
Gunner got out of his vehicle and jogged across the street. He shuddered at the skinned ducks hanging in the window of the butcher's and pressed on. He walked halfway up the metal stair case but stopped half way, and un- holstered his glock; checking hte magazine. He re-holstered the gun and continued up to the trades door. He looked around cautiously and knocked on the door three times. A eyehole planted under the trades sign opened up and a blank eye stared back at him.  
  
" River City Police Department." Gunner said plainly, holding his badge up. " I have osme questions about R.H. Grant?"  
  
The eye disappeared and the hole closed. A buss rang out form inside the apartment and the heavy steel door creaked open slowly. Gunner walked in, the room was dark, but he could make out the outlines of a cheap dineatte set, a kitchen area but room beyond it was extremely dark. Gunner pulled a small maglight out of his pocket and switched it on. It flickered to life with protest, but hten went blank. Gunner sighed and smacked the side of it. It turned on again, he owuld have to get new batteries for it. He swept the weak beam around hte room, there was no one in sight...  
  
BAM!  
  
A shot whizzed by Gunner's head, someone pushed pass him and out the door he came in. Gunner un-holstered his wepaon and ran out the door. He got outside and saw his shooter hurrying down the steps, brandishing a Colt M1911. Gunner raised his weapon and shouted; " FREEZE!"  
  
The shooter froze in his spot on cue. " Drop you weapon!" Gunner shouted, the shooter did so. " Now put your hands over your head and turn around very slowly." He commanded, the guy did so. It turned out to be Spencer Holden; one of Grant's bodyguard's. He wore a black trench coat(the H.R. Grant crew's signature) and his hair was buzz cut.  
  
" Well, Well Well, Dect. Ryan Gunner." Spencer said, with a heavy cockney accent.  
  
" Spencer Holden I see." Ryan said walking down the steps holstering his gun. " You do realise attempting to kill a cop is an offense in this country."  
  
" Meh, same over in Great Britain." He said lowering his hands. " What do ya' wanna know a 'bout Grant?"  
  
" What he's been up to." Gunner said patting Spencer down for anymore weapons, and finding none. " I ain't gonna book you, seeing as I'm in the middle of a triple homicide investigation. So spill it."  
  
" So' right, here's the deal." Spence said. " All's I know's is that Grant hired this kid of from I think Florida? To do some dirty work for him. Word on the street is that The Oz man is involved somehow."  
  
" The Oz man?" Gunner asked. " The illegal gun broker?"  
  
" Yeah's, how many people in this town go by the name 'Oz' anyway?" Holden replied.  
  
" Alright, so what do you know about this kid from down south?" Gunner asked.  
  
" Ah ,I think the lboke is like hte nephew of this doper in Vice City. Tommy...uhm...Tommy somethin'"  
  
" Vercetti?" Gunner asked trying to refresh his memory.  
  
" Yeah, Tommy Vercetti." Spencer repleid snapping his fingers.  
  
" Alright so where can I find these two?" Gunner asked.  
  
" Ah, I don't know." Spencer said. " I guess this kid would be sqautting with Oz, but he's always on the run. Why don't you try asking around Oz's old haunt? You know the Ammu-nation downtown."  
  
" Will do." Gunner said walking past him. " At the bottom of the steps he turned around and said: " But stay out of trouble."  
  
" Right back at ya." Spencer said.  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
" So what do you know about Grant's operation?" Oz asked Sven, his shotgun shoved into his neck.  
  
We were at the stackboxes, you know down in the Blumeberg shipping district where they kept htose large steel shiiping continers. There was a whole yard of them, stacked up 3-4 high, in 5 triple rows of 4. We were on the edge of the yard, next ot the highway. I sat on the edge of the high waterfront, looking at the waves roll along, my Mp5K in my lap. Sven, our Russian captive was curled up into a ball in the trunk of Oz's sentinel. And as I said before, he had a shotgun shoved to the side of his neck.  
  
" I tell you if I knew anything but I don't know jack your American pig!" Sven said, trembling in the cold wet weather.  
  
WHAM!  
  
Sven let otu a cry of pain and grasped at his shoulder. Oz had taken the butt of the shotgun's folding stock and rammed it bluntly into the Russian's side. I sighed and turned aroudn to face Oz.  
  
" Why the hell are we doing this?" I asked him sharply. " All we were supposed to do was kill these Russian guys, not put them in a trunk and drive em out to the middle of nowhere to beat the hell out of them."  
  
" Michael, remember the guy with the Nine in the Diner this morning?" He asked me.  
  
" Yeah? So?" I shot back.  
  
" Well he was part of the Russian mob, and he wanted the money." Oz explained. " Now since im funded by Grant's organization, and this stickman wanted the money. I naturally want to know what the Russians want with Grant's-"  
  
" Wait." Sven spoke up wearily. " Michael...Michael Vehcetti?"  
  
" Yeah." I responded. " Whats it to you?"  
  
" My employer's are interested in taking over your Uncle's operation down south." Sven explained.  
  
" WHAT?!?!" I screamed. I got up and walked over to him, grabbed him by his lapel and screamed in his face; " WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE VERCETTI'S?!?!"  
  
" The Vercetti operation has Vice City on a leash." Sven explained. " You guys deal in dope, and have a hold on the police, the businesses and the highest courts."  
  
BREEEEP BREEEEP  
  
A dellphone went off in Sven's jacket, he struggled ot get it but was met with a another crack to the side with the shotgun stock. I searched his pockets and found a small sleek cellphone. I flipped it open and said nothing.  
  
" Sven?" A russian voice rang in my ears. " Sven? Where are you? I heard the others were killed at the Cafe', are you ok?"  
  
" Your buddy Sven is fine at the moment." I said gravely. " Who is this?"  
  
" Who is this?" The voice shot back.  
  
" I asked you first." I mocked in a little kid matter. " Listen, if you want your precious Sven back. Go to the docks in an hour, wait outside warehouse number 6."  
  
With that I flipped the cellphone shut and pocketed it.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	6. Chapter 5: Wyant Returns

River City Blues  
  
Chapter 5: Wyant returns  
  
River City, here I am.  
  
How did I end up here? I had a good gig going down in Vice City, a well paid hitman was my profession. A 9mm was my calling card. But she had messed it up. Some dumb broad from Liberty City, working with the Yardies wanted her Ex-Boyfriend dead. So did her associates. When she tracked him down to Vice city, she ofund out he was the rightful nephew of a financially secure Drug-lord; I.e Tommy Vercetti. She wanted to take over the business, but wanted the kid dead.  
  
Thats where I came in.  
  
She hired me, 5000 a head. To kill prominant associates of Tommy Vercetti and his Nephew Michael Vercetti. I killed one of them; Kent Paul. The red haired ladies man. Then I heard a rumor Michael and Tommy Vercetti were both dead. I figured my job was done and went off to collect my pay. But I was wrong.  
  
At the paypoint Maria met me there. She told me Michael Vercetti and Lance Vance; Tomym Vercetti's partner were seen spotted at an abandoned pay 'n spray down in Vice point. She handed me a Rifle, told me to finish the job. So I sped on down to where they were seen, found Vance's White Infernus out front. I found a nice sniper's nest on the building opposite and sat with my rifle and waited. An hour later Vance and Michael pulled up into the garage in a Mananna, and shortly after they walked out. I was a bit vexed, but I took my shots. They took cover behidn hte car, seeing as it was bullet proof. Michael got into the car and tore off around the block, a few minutes later I found myself tied up in the pay and spray. Beaten to shit, my toe missing and losing more blood than the blood banks had. That was the handy work of Lance Vance and his handy dandy Butterfly knife. I drifted in and out of conciousness.  
  
When I finally got a grip on myself, it was about 5:30 the next day. Vance and Michael had left, and the guy who owned the pay 'n spray was making breakfast in the next room. I looked around and found some of my stuff lying on a box. My twin colt defender handguns and Lance's butterfly knife. I hobbled my chair over to the knife and flipped it open, cutting the ropes. I snuck into the kitchen area, behind the guy's back and slit his throat clean. My foot hurt like hell, so I looked around in the kitchen cabinets finding some bandaging and wrapped my foot. I got my Guns and went into the garage bay. That Mananna was still there, luckily it ran(it was banged up pretty bad.) I got in and got over to Prawn Island fast.  
  
I stopped over at Maria's, finding her crew getting ready for war. Yardies and Hatians broke open cases of guns and ammunition. Slipping into kevlar vests. I found Maria in the crowd and told her about what I told Vercetti. She was pissed about it, and told me htye were going ot attack the Vercetti manor head on. But all of a sudden an explosion tore into the side of the house. Gunfire erupted from outside, then another explosion. I ran and hid in a room off to the side while Maria ran upstairs. Another explosion tore into the old house rattling it's frame. The gunfire came louder, as the shooter got closer. And hten it stopped.  
  
I poked my head out from the doorway, and ofund Michael Vercetti standing in the middle of the hall holding a smoking M16, and talking to Maria. He smiled and hefted his rifle. I stepped out form my hiding lace, my gun drawn. In a second he dropped his rifle and put his hands up in surrender. A helicopter was heard outside, Maria otld me our ride was here and to wrap it up. I smiled and pulled the trigger.  
  
BAM!  
  
My gun went flying out of my hand. I spun to find a S.W.A.T. team standing in the doorway. I ran off up the stairs with Maria, through the elevator access hall. We got up to hte landing pad. Maria got in the copter loading an M60. She handed me two MP5K's, telling me to hold them off. I aimed them at the door way, and Michael busted through holding a shotgun, the S.W.A.T team nowhere in sight. Maria had taken off and was hovering over the pad. We both fired at Michael, he took cover behind the housing. But Maria doubled cross me. She fired rockets at the pad's support columns. It went tumbling into the sea. My legs were pinned by something and I blacked out, but I seemed to remember a dark figure trying to help me up from under the water.  
  
When I finally came to, I was in the Vice City down town hospital in a hospital bed. They cleaned me up pretty good, had me attached ot all these ICU's and I.V. things. I tore them off and got up. All I was dressed in was a hospital gown and an I.D. bracelet. I needed to get out of there. I was sharing a room with soem guy, he luckily was about my size. So I stole some of his things; A trenchcoat, a pair of black pants, a white longsleeve shirt And a hundred bucks in cash. I dressed quickly and snuck out of th hospital. I stole a pair of black and white convers's frm a doctor's locker on my way out too.  
  
Luckily there was an Ammu-nation down the road. I walked over, I needed a weapon .Luckily I found a nice Colt .45 for about 50 bucks(a magazine of ammo included) I needed more money, so I checked my coat's pockets. I fond soemthing nice, it was in a little velvet box. A diamond engagement ring, I ugess hte previous owner of the coat was going to pop the question. I took it to a pawn shop, got about 300 for it. Then I ganked a Perrenial and went on over to prawn island to get some of my things. But unfortunately I found the area crawlign with cops. I was homeless, to say the least. I drove my stolen Perrenial over ot Vice port. I had a favor ot call in.  
  
I had an old friend who lived in vice port. He ran a shipping company. He gave me a small one room apartment annexing the yards of his business, and a job to help load and unload the ships that came in. I held this job for about 3 weeks but then I remembered I had another favor to call in.  
  
R.H. Grant, a prominent gun smuggler and dealer from up north. Last time I had seen him, he was just getting a crew started. Now I hear he's got a nice operation running. I gave him a call, told him the situation I was in. He was more than willing to help me, said he always needed extra hands. And so I bought a bus ticket to River City. And here I was, River City. The gun capital of western civalization.  
  
I was walking along a street down in the eneteratinment district, where Grant's operation was ohled up in. He ran everything from a run down theater. I met him in his office in the back.  
  
" Well, Well well." He said in his crisp british accent. " Wyant, my old friend. I have some work cut out for you."  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
A dark night, maybe too dark.  
  
I waited infront of Warehouse number six, the last one in the corner farthest from the street. The flame of my zippo lit up for a few seconds, lighting my smoke. It's life lasted for a few seconds until it was extiguished by the zippo cover. The moon was hidden by clouds, obviously showing there was going to be another rain. It was pretty much dark, so hopefully Oz had a night vision scope on his rifle.  
  
Suddenly a car turned into the alley inbetween the two rows of warehouses. It was a black 2004 Landstalker, very nice and sleek. It's body gleamed sleekily form the light of the lamps hanging over the Warehouse doors. I waited for a response, and htne the car's front lamps flashed 2 times. I reached into the Sentinel and hit the button on the dash. The car's lights flashing identicaly. With acknowledgement the car pulled forward slowly, I checked to make sure my Mp5K was still nestled safely under my coat; it was. The car stopped and the front passenger and back doors popped open. 3 men got out, dressed in business suits, the driver remained in the car, hands on the wheel. They held their hands over htere heads, but one could only be so sure...  
  
" Weapons?" I called out to them.  
  
" Only our good looks and charming personalities my friend." The man who got out of the front passenger seat said in a Russian accent.  
  
" Heh I'm charmed." I said. " How about your buddy behin the whel there?"  
  
" Don't vorry about him." He replied. " Is my partner Sven alright?"  
  
" Yeah he's find." I replied. " For now. What is he worth to you...Mr.-?  
  
" Klasnikov." He replied, putting his hands down and straightening his tie, in a business type manner. His cronies did the same. " Sergei Klasnikov."  
  
" Ah, the AK." I said nodding. " So what are you willing to pay for your friend Sven?"  
  
" Is my friend all right?" He asked.  
  
" Perfectly fine." I said tapping the trunk of Oz's car. " Right here in the heartland of good ol' America."  
  
" Alright, then." He replied pulling out his checkbook. " How much would you like...Mr.-?"  
  
" I want info." I said bluntly. Sergei's face fell limp, he put his check book back. " On want then?" He aksed me.  
  
" Your plans for the Vercetti Drug ring down in Vice City Florida." I replied, taking puffs of my ciggarete.  
  
" Well, to extend my business you see." He explained. " I run a gun running business up here in River City, but who doesn't?"  
  
" Guns huh? Isn't that a bit risky?" I asked.  
  
" My friend, with guns come power." He rpelied. " Everyone one in the crime business wants firepower. It's a formal business."  
  
" so i've been told. But with power comes responsibility." I replied. " I learned that the hard way."  
  
" How unfortunate." He replied.  
  
" So why Vice city?" I asked. " Why The Vercetti crew?"  
  
" Vice city is a station in the Cuban and Mexican gun running ring, simply." He replied. " The Vercetti crew has control over the boat yards and port authority in their pockets. what better advantage could there be?"  
  
" So is that all?" I asked. He nodded. " Alright you get your precious Sven back."  
  
" I never got your name, Mr.-?" He asked.  
  
" Vercetti." i replied. " Michael Vercetti."  
  
" Holy mother of-." He began, but was cut short as the crack of a Sig 551 echoed through out the warehouses. One of the men that followed Sergei fell to the ground, dead. I imediately took cvoer behind the car and pulled my subgun out form under my coat, firing wildly. Sergei and his other bodyguard jumped back into their SUV. I fired at the car as it backed up wildly, the bullets bounced off, the vehcile was bullet proof. Sergei appeared through the sunroof. Wielding and Ak-47, firing it at me wildly. His shots hit the pavement. The car got back on the street and did a backwards u-turn, speeding off into sight.  
  
I let out a sigh of relief, as Oz jogged over with his Sig 551.  
  
" So what did you find out?" He asked me.  
  
" The Russians want my Uncle's empire." I replied. " For gun running advantages."  
  
" Oh." He said, darkly.  
  
" What do you know Oz?" I asked him.  
  
" Well...uhm." He said, hesitantly. " I should have told you when I found out you were a Vercetti but um..."  
  
" What is it?" I asked him, irrately.  
  
" Grant's operation is in a partner ship with the Russians to over throw the Vercetti empire." He replied. " Considering they are Gun Runners and-"  
  
" WHAT?!" I asked him. " How long have they been planning this?!"  
  
" About a month or so." He said. " I think when they found out your Uncle was in a coma. And then they found out oyu were comign up here so they could probably use you some how."  
  
" Dammit." I said loudly, kicking the side of the Sentinel. " We have to tell Lance."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	7. Chapter 6: Bad ties and the chase begins

River City Blues  
  
Chapter 6: Bad Ties and the chase begins  
  
" Operator." Quentin's voice spoke over the phone. Man did this guy ever sleep?  
  
" Lance, its Michael." I said.  
  
" Ah Michael! How are things up in River City." He said cheerily.  
  
" Bad man." I said. " Up creek without a paddle' bad."  
  
" Oh." He said, his voice faltering. " What's the problem."  
  
" Well, first I get kidnapped at the airport." I said hurriedly. " I lose my stuff, my money, my merchandise."  
  
" Oh, man." He said.  
  
" Yeah, then to top it off. I end up working for some crime boss, my life for labor type deal."  
  
" Wow." He said. " Do you want me to send down some help or-?"  
  
" No I'm not done yet." I said cutting him off. " I just found out we have some competition moving in on the operation."  
  
" Who?"  
  
" The Russian mob." I explained. " Featuring R.H. Grant's crew, the guy's who I was working for."  
  
" Oh god." Said, slamming his fist down on something. Probably my Uncle's desk. " What do they want with the operation?"  
  
" Gun smuggling." I explained. " Vice city is a station in the channel of the Cuban gun running scene."  
  
" So wait that means-"  
  
" Yeah." I replied cutting him off. " Your plan fell through. No one is interested in dope dealing up here in River City. This is the gun capital of Western civilization."  
  
" Ah man Tommy is going to kill me." He said, it sounded like he smacked his forehead. " What should we do?"  
  
" Raise the alarm on all the protection squads in Vice City." I said. " The Boat yards, the Cab Company, even the strip club. I don't want anything like what Maria was going to do happen again. Keep a look out for any Russians or people with bad British accents hanging around the assets."  
  
" All right." He said. " Want me to send some people down, or do you have another plan?"  
  
" No don't send anyone down." I replied. " I'm holed up with a gun runner so we can probably fend for ourselves. But I'm getting the hell out of dodge."  
  
" Alright." He said. " Anything else?"  
  
" Yeah, how's Uncle Tommy?"  
  
" The doctor's said he's in a light coma. So there's a chance he might get out of the whole deal" He explained.  
  
" Wow." I said astonished. " Okay I want the best guard's around him, 24/7. Arm them with M4 Carbines."  
  
" Ok, but why?" He asked me.  
  
" Well if the Russians and the Brits have hit teams down there." I said. " They might try going after Tommy, like Maria did."  
  
" Oh ok."  
  
" Anyway I gotta go." I said.  
  
" Hey Mike." He said stopping me.  
  
" Yeah?" I replied.  
  
" Watch your back." He said.  
  
" Alright, you too." I shot back " Adios."  
  
I slammed the receiver down, my head spinning. The change I had put in clanged to the bowels of the payphone. Oz was waiting in the Sentinel, idling the engine. We had dumped Sven's ass after we had killed him in the ocean. I yanked open the passenger's door and got in.  
  
" What's our next move Fido." He asked me. Yeah he had heard the nickname somewhere, don't ask.  
  
" First don't call me Fido." I snapped at him. " And second what hardware you got at home?"  
  
" Some pretty heavy stuff I've been saving for a rainy day." He replied. " Why?"  
  
" We're leaving River City kid." I replied tossing away my smoke into the gutter. " And we might get some protest form Grant's crew or the Russians."  
  
" Wow." He said stunned, looking down at the wheel. " I've never really ever left River city. I mean my livelihood is here."  
  
" I'll get you business in Vice City." I replied. " That is if the Vercetti Empire holds up. If not I have some friends up in Liberty that can help you."  
  
" Wow, thanks man."  
  
" No problem." I said. " But let's get over to your place."  
  
============================================================================ ======  
  
We got to Oz's near dawn, the horizon lined by a line of like tannish sunrise. Oz pulled the Stallion and parked it next to the curb, without opening his door he jumped. I followed suit, into the small garage. He took out a ring of key and unlocked the door, opening it to a dark and presumably empty abode.  
  
But we we're wrong.  
  
Oz flipped on the light switch next to the door. The lights stayed off. " What the hell  
  
?" He said. He tried flipping the switch, but no response. But with a click the room was bathed in warm light.  
  
And sitting in the middle of the room, in a leather recliner was Wyant, the hitman from Vice City. He right arm was resting on the armrest, and in his hand he held a nice sleek Glock 9mm aimed at us. I looked at him; he looked at us with content. In his mouth was a lit cigarette.  
  
" Well, if it isn't the infamous Wyant." I said coolly. Oz was frozen in his place, he made small uh sounds as if trying to speak. " Tell me, what is it that you want know."  
  
" Usually in my line of work Mr. Vercetti." Wyant said flicking his cigarette ash onto an ashtray next to him. " My employer's don't get killed. See when you killed Maria, she hadn't paid me for icing Kent Paul. I was penniless after I woke up in that hospital bed. And I wanted paid. Luckily an old friend, a Mr. R.H. Grant was very willing to employ my services, on you and Oz."  
  
" That bastard." Oz piped up. " Why me?"  
  
" Because you helped him find out the Russian's and Grant's plans for Vice City." He replied. " Thus you too were quite trouble some to his business and had to be cut off."  
  
" Wyant did you ever find out who got you out of the water a month ago?" I asked him.  
  
" The paramedics obviously." He said.  
  
" No." I replied bluntly. " I did, Ok? I risked my neck to save you. And now you're gonna kill me."  
  
" Michael you should no a hitman doesn't care about what you have done for him in the past." He replied. " If there is a price on your head."  
  
" Yeah I know." I shot back. " I was just trying to exploit your weaknesses."  
  
He smirked. " Cute, but considering you did save my life I'll show some honor. And kill you first Mr. Vercetti."  
  
" DUCK!" Oz screamed as he flung himself behind me. We landed behind the TV console, in a pile of snaking A/V wires. A large blast was heard in Wyant's direction, and something thumped against the opposite wall. I heard Wyant let out a oomph. I drew my gun and jumped out form behind the TV, Oz at myside with his revolver drawn. The recliner was lying on its back, a growing fire protruding from it. Wyant pulled himself up form against the wall, we fired at him, and he ran and jumped through the window the glass shattering around him.  
  
" Let's get out of here!" Oz shouted and grabbed me by the coat. He yanked me out the door and onto the street, the garage was engulfed in flames. A few seconds later it blew sky high, balls of fire exploding from the openings of the garage building. The blast knocked us back off our feet. I sat up with a groan, Oz was in shock as he watched his home fall apart before him.  
  
" C'mon buddy." I said pulling him up off the ground. He was trembling. " What was in the recliner to make it do that anyway?"  
  
" It was a pipe bomb." He said, staring at the burning wreck of a building. " Planted in the recliner, and triggered by weight. The fire must've hit the NOS tanks I was hoarding. And now."  
  
" I looked at him blankly, I didn't know what to say. Poor kid.  
  
" I'll drive." I said pulling open the passenger' side door of the Stallion.  
  
We hit the freeway to the airport early morning, where the morning rush hour of daily commute was starting to kick into full swing. I had the roof lowered, the wind whipping through my hair. Oz sat in the passenger's seat loading his revolver. He pulled the SIG 551 from the backseat and checked the magazine, we had oen plus 2 extra's clamped to the loaded one.  
  
" So how are we going to identify Grant's hit squad?" I asked over the roar of passing cars. " That is if there is one."  
  
" They wear black trench coats." He said plainly. I shifted into 3rd and changed lanes. River City's freeways were built on concrete pillars, from the air it all looked very confusing. I looked over at Oz, he was hwite with dark circles under his eyes.  
  
" Hey, you okay kid?" I asked putting my eyes back on the road.  
  
WHAM!  
  
A black Landstalker rammed into my side of the Stallion. The car swerved all over the road but I took handle of it. I looked back over at the SUV and found Roland pulling himself out of the sunroof, and wielding an AK-47. He raised the weapon and fired, bullets tearing it the concrete and the boot of the car. Oz who had to be very pissed off at the moment, slammed his head into the dash and jumped up onto his seat wielding his. He fired the weapon, the shots booming and deafening my ears. The slugs smacked into the side of the SUV, it swerved on the road. Roland wheeled back and regained his hold, he raised the AK again and fired at us, his shots were inaccurate. Though as he fired he hit an '86 bobcat next to us, the bullets tore though it's gas tank exploding. The car by its front wheels, launched upward from the exploding and flipped on it's back, the car kept sliding down the road sparks flying everywhere. It hit the side of a moonbeam and spun to s stop.  
  
All the while Roland was still firing like crazy. His shots were getting accurate as they tore through the back seat of the Stallion. Oz took aim and fired a few more shots, the slug tore into Roland's right hand. He let out a scream of pain and his hand shot up to his hand clutching it in extreme pain. He disappeared into the Landstalker for a few moments and came back, his hand wrapped in a rag. He reloaded his AK and began firing at us again, his shots connected with an RCPD cruiser passing by. It hit it's lights and joined our chase.  
  
Oz sighed and held out his hand to me.  
  
" What?" I asked him, concentrating on my driving.  
  
" Gun." He said, very vexed. I sighed and pulled my piece out from my jacket handing it to him. He took it and pulled out his heavy revolver. He stretched his arms out, each hand holding a gun. On our left was the SUV, he aimed my .45 at it. On our right was the police car with its sirens wailing. He aimed his revolver at it. He pulled the trigger's, unloading the guns into the vehicles. His shots at the cruiser tore into the driver's windshield, blood splattering on the window. His shots at the SUV tore up the passenger in the SUV whom was wielding a shotgun.  
  
The cop swerved all over the road and unfortunately got in a semi's path. Roland reloaded his AK and took aim again, he fired and I heard the distinct gunfire I remember clearly. Oz dropped the handguns in the backseat and pulled out his shotgun. He cocked it and took aim. His shot tore into the back passenger side door. Roland took aim and fired at the hood. His the slugs made it fly up preventing me to see, Oz racked another shell and fired again at the hood. It flew off the car and into the landing on the ground behind us.  
  
Another car joined the chases, this time an unmarked black, dented, Karuma police car, with a flashing light behind the windshield. The driver wielded an Ithaca 37 out his window and took aim at our boot. He fired, the shot hitting the trunk lid making it fly up. Oz climbed over the seat and slammed down the lid with his foot. He raised his SIG 551 and fired at the car, the shots hitting the front window. The driver of the car ducked and avoided the fatal slugs. He popped back up and racked another shell into his shotgun; taking aim. He fired hitting our windshield from behind shattering it. I winced as the glass shattered in front of me.  
  
The Karuma pulled in between the Landstalker. I swung the wheel to my left sandwiching the cop car into the SUV. Countering my moved the Landstalker did the same, slamming the cop car into my car. The car was trapped in between my car and the SUV. The cop behind the wheel let go and racked another shell into his shotgun. He fired into the windshield of the SUV. The vehicle swerved and rammed into the side rail flipping over. It was just me and The Cop car now.  
  
A roadblock was formed up ahead next to the off ramp, and I had a plan. I fell back behind the Karuma and put my foot to the floor and rammed the Karuma giving it some extra speed. It barreled into the barricade out of controlled and flipped over on it's back. With the way cleared I took the off ramp in West Heights River City.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	8. Chapter 7: The Chase continues

River City blues  
  
Chapter 7: The chase continues  
  
Gunner shook his head and looked around. He was upside down oddly enough, hanging from his seat by his seat belt. His car had overturned in the chase apparently; the windows lay shattered on the ground. His shotgun was twisted up under the dash. He sighed and unclipped his belt, pulling himself from the wreck.  
  
We had gotten off the off ramp and onto the streets of West heights, River City. West heights reminded me of Portland back in Liberty, with the buildings and such and the L train track. We pulled onto a street next to the highway, separating the street form the high was a small grassy hill and a metal fence. Just as we got a few feet from the corner, the car died out. Making those clunking noises and spewing smoke.  
  
" The hell?" Oz said reaching across me and tapping the gas meter. He shrugged. " I guess she took too much on the freeway." He concluded. He hopped out and pulled the shotgun and Rifle form the back seat. He reloaded the two and then pulled the handguns and reloaded them. I tried yanking open my door but found it banged shut, I sighed and kicked it but the locking mechanism was all tangled up. I sighed again and climbed over the door on to the street. Oz handed me my .45 and the shotgun with a couple of shells, I stuffed them in my coat pocket. I looked over the car, its trunk was smashed up, bullet holes covered the one side, part of the front windscreen was smashed and the driver's door was mashed in. I shook my head.  
  
Just then a black Patriot roared through the metal fence off of the highway. It barreled down the hill at us full speed. I jumped out of the way as it slammed into the back of the Stallion making it skid down the street a few feet and doing a half spin, then stopping. The Patriot charged on down a bit and stopped. Sergei Klashnikov stepped out of the truck along with 4 other guys; two including Sergei were armed with AK's and the other two with Franchi Spas 12's. They all cocked their weapons.  
  
" Get 'em!" Sergei commanded.  
  
" Shit!" I screamed and grabbed Oz by the arm, they fired at us hitting the Stallion first. The car blew up instantly, launching it two feet in the air. It came back down with a loud thump. Sergei and his men continued firing at us. We made a run for it, to a fenced in parking lot on the corner. We ran up to them, the gates were closed; I slammed into them and rattled them. They held in place. I sighed and climbed up the fence, at the top I swung my leg over but lost my footing and fell on the ground on my back, pretty hard. Oz crawled up the fence and landed next to me in a cat like stance. He help me and up and ran through the jungle of parked cars. He smashed the window on a green '86 Bobcat and climbed in, helping me into the passenger's seat. He tore open the casing under the dash and pulled out a jumble of wires.  
  
" You know how to hot wire this thing?" I asked panting for air. He flipped open a, butterfly knife and cut the two red wires, connecting them. The truck roared to life. He swung his blade closed.  
  
" Mama didn't raise no fool." He said, I chuckled at the comment. He put the truck in gear and tore through the parking lot. He rammed the gate, it squealed easily off its hinges and rattled on the ground. Oz turned the corner and onto an inclined street. He gunned the truck's weak engine and hit the first dip, sparks flying everywhere from the chasis. Sergei's Patriot appeared behind us, Sergei leaning out the passenger's side window wielding his AK. He first at us, the rounds shattering the trucks back window. I picked up Oz's rifle and fired out the back window. The shots hit the front grill and the hood flipped off. Sergei continued firing at us. I fired back, my shots shattering their front windscreen. Sergei winced in pain and clutched his shoulder. Defeated he retreated into the vehicle and was replaced by one of his henchmen wielding a Spas12. He took aim and fired at us on full auto. The shots hitting our front windshield and making it shatter into a million pieces.  
  
I turned around and found a police roadblock not far off and no other way to go, the police stood there with Colt M4A1 carbines aimed at us. Oz gripped the wheel, his knuckles white.  
  
" What do we do man?" He asked all panicky.  
  
" HIT IT!" I screamed at him, I drove my foot down on his making the gas pedal touch the floor. I reached up and spun the wheel sharply, the truck spun out of control and into the road block killing all the unfortunate cops standing there. Our ties popped and we stopped spinning and the engine died out. I looked over at Oz, there was blood seeping from a cut on his forehead but other that that he looked okay. Sergei's Patriot was bearing down on us. Oz tried starting the truck but it would not start. I kicked open my door.  
  
" Stay here." I commanded. I jumped out of the truck and looked around at the dying cops around me. I picked up an M4 off the closest one and aimed at Sergei's approaching Patriot. I pulled the trigger, the rounds emptied out like ketchup from a broken bottle. My aim hit the driver of the vehicle, killing him instantly. The Patriot swerved all over the road, and then flipped over on its side. It skidded at me with the underbelly of the vehicle facing me. I aimed for the gas tank and pulled the trigger again, the shots bounced off the tank. But the last one hit it.  
  
BOOM!  
  
The Patriot exploded in an array of fire and slid to a stop, taking Sergei Klashnikov to hell with it. I dropped the weapon and helped Oz out of the truck. He clutched at his side in pain.  
  
" Rib?" I asked him, he nodded wincing. I looked down the street and found a bus at a stop. " I found us a ride, by the looks of it." I said to him.  
  
Roland kicked out the broken window of the left passenger door on the SUV. O'Brien, Mannings, Gulley, they were all killed. Gulley got hit by a shotgun blast, Mannings snapped his neck when they flipped over and O'brien got a sharp piece of jagged metal of road debris stuck in his face. All of his friends and partners, were killed by those two, idiots.  
  
Oz and that Vercetti kid.  
  
Roland pulled himself from the vehicle and dusted himself off. He remembered seeing the Stallion take the exit into West Heights, but that was Zaibatsu turf, and not very R.H. Grant friendly turf. But he wanted revenge painfully, and he needed a ride. A Mannana pulled up and the driver got out. That car would have to do.  
  
" Hey are you okay man?" The driver asked him. Roland shrugged and pulled out his Sig Sauer P226, shooting the man in the face two times. He got in the car and drove over to the West Heights exit ramp, the police next to the ramp took notice of him and waved at him to stop. That's when Roland threw a grenade without its pin out the window.  
  
BOOM!  
  
Roland smiled but did not look back as he rode off the exit ramp. 


	9. Chapter 8: Laying Low

River City Blues  
  
Chapter 8: Laying low  
  
The bus Oz had pointed out took us somewhere down to the lower part of West Heights. This part looked fairly decent, kinda reminded me of Portland with the L track and the townhouses and buildings. In front of a small little pawnshop, Oz pulled that little cord which made the bus stop. We got off, in an instant the driver swung the doors close behind us and sped off. Oz still clutched at his side in pain, but at least he got his nose to stop bleeding. I was okay, nothing major but a cut on my head and a really dirty face. We weren't carrying the shotgun or the rifle anymore, considering we kind of forgot them back in that pickup truck after we blew Sergei straight to hell. All we had was our handguns, a joint total of 250 in cash and my butterfly knife. Oz also had a small .25 caliber handgun strapped to his ankle, for emergency use mainly.  
  
I looked at the small little rutty building perplexed. " What is this place?" I asked him. It was painted black, a door in the middle in between two gated off windows. A sign above the door read: "STOGGY'S SHOP; Pawnbrokers" in black lettering. I scratched my head.  
  
" A friend of mine owns this joint." Oz said hobbling across the street. "Were going to lay low a little bit, till we get some more money for plane tickets."  
  
He yanked open the door and disappeared into the depths on the shop, I followed him in. It was your normal type of pawnshop, the owner sat behind a cage booth that ran along one wall, and there were selves loaded with TV's, DVD players, Stereos that sorta thing. Somewhere in the shop, Mommy's little monster droned on. A kid, about 20ish or so sat behind the counter, he had several piercing in his lower lip, and his hair was dyed Red and Black. He wore a tattered black jacket, with safety pins attached to it, and is hands and arms were covered in several tattoos. He was reading a Rolling Stones magazine, some heavy metal band's face plastered on the cover. Oz walked up to him and rattled on the metal fence.  
  
" I'm closed, comeback in 5 minutes." He said, without looking up from his magazine.  
  
" Hey Gohlke." Oz said. Weird name, I thought to myself.  
  
Gohlke looked up and blinked, He shook his head and blinked again. His eyes widened in surprise.  
  
" Holy shit its Oz!" He said amazed. " I thought you were dead kid!"  
  
" Almost." He replied patting his rib, and in turn winced in pain. " Listen Michael and I ran into some trouble with Grant. We need a place to lay low for a little bit, can we crash with you?"  
  
" Yeah I have enough space, side I'm an insomniac and never sleep anyway." He said motioning to a door. " I wouldn't worry about Grant though, I mean West Heights is Zaibatsu territory. That's why I moved here after the turf wars."  
  
" Yeah bad times weren't they?" Oz said. " We lost a few good friends in the turf wars."  
  
" Yeah." Gohlke replied nodding. " Well anyway I'll show you where you can sleep."  
  
He opened the door behind the counter and motioned us to follow. We walked around the counter and followed Gohlke into the room, which wasn't very big. It was about the size of a storage pantry. The walls were concrete gray, covered in posters of various bands like AFI and System of a Down. In the corner there was a Black futon and across from it a medium sized TV on a milk crate. Next ot the Futon was a Wash Basin with a dirty mirror. In the corner next to the door there was a wooden desk and computer chair. The desk was a mess, it was covered in papers, and Magazines, along with a Dell computer.  
  
" It ain't much but now you have a place to crash at least." He said.  
  
" Thanks Gohlke." Oz said.  
  
" No prob." He replied going out the door. " Anytime."  
  
I sighed and looked around. Oz walked over and plopped himself down on the futon, picking up the tv remote and clicked it on. He flipped through several channels and sighed, clicking the TV off. I took a seat in the computer chair and leaned back. Obviously we were gonna be there for a while so I decided to ask Oz some questions.  
  
" So what were the turf wars?" I asked him.  
  
" Wars over River City territory." He replied, pulling out his revolver and letting it hang limply in his hand. " Zaibatsu, the Yakuza and R.H. Grant's crew fought over The East and West sides of River City. Of course Gohlke and I were signed up to the Crew as Metalmen, same with a lot of our other friends. Which a lot of them died except for Couri and a few others, who moved to Liberty City, Couri I think lives out in the suburbs or the mission district. I don't remember anymore. Eventually The Yakuza were driven from town, and Grant's crew took roost in The East side while Zaibatsu took West Heights. This all happened about 3-4 years ago, its really blurry now."  
  
" What about the Russians?"  
  
" They moved in The East side, but made a deal with Grant's crew over business." He replied. He swung open the cylinder on his revolver and emptied the used shells on the floor. He reloaded the gun and snapped the cylinder shut, laying the gun on the couch beside him. " I don't think I can live with myself anymore Michael."  
  
" How so?" I asked.  
  
" Being a gun dealer rakes in good dough but." He began. " It starts to take its toll. Like last week, I sold a Mac 10 to some street thug working for Grant right? Well turns out this 15-year old kid got killed in the cross fire of a drive by, by the very same gun I sold."  
  
" Wow."  
  
" I mean sure, it makes good money. But Mike this kid didn't even have his license yet. And he had a scholarship to Harvard for Christ sake. He was in no gang, he didn't deserve to die." Oz said, his face buried in his hands.  
  
" Man, that sucks." I replied scratching the back of my neck. I never knew what to say in conversations like these.  
  
" When's the first time you killed someone Fido?" He asked me, this time I paid on mind to the Fido part.  
  
" When I was about 19." I replied. " I had a scholarship to Liberty University, yet I was a big time coke addict. My grades started slipping and I dropped out of school. I had no money, no job and I was desperate for the stuff. And one night, I took a utility razor and killed a dope dealer from Portland, I slit his throat and left him dead in the streets. Took his cash and what ever stuff he had, which was enough coke for one measly hit. So I took a snort and passed out in an alley somewhere in Trenton. A girl named Rachel found me, got me in rehab and off the stuff."  
  
" What ever happened to Rachel?" He asked me, red eyed.  
  
" She was killed by dope pushers." I replied. " Same guys who were friends with that doper I killed. I liked Rachel too, she liked actually cared where my life was going. And now I just realized I never told anyone that before."  
  
" So is that why you turned to a life of crime?" Oz asked me. " So you could find the guys who killed Rachel, and make 'em pay?"  
  
" No, but I did avenge Rachel." I replied. " I got into this life, well because I fell for someone else. Who broke my heart again with a cold .45 slug."  
  
" Catalina right?" Oz asked snapping his fingers. I nodded.  
  
" Yeah how'd you know?" I asked him.  
  
" Read about it in the papers." He replied. " They called you the butcher of Liberty City, after that incident On Cochran dam."  
  
" Guess I'm one step ahead of Uncle Tommy." I replied. " They used to call him the Harwood butcher."  
  
That same day, a man in a black trench coat walked into the West Heights Ammu-nation, opposite the L-train platform. His forehead was bleeding mildly, and there was a blood soaked rag tied around his hand. He had jet- black hair, cut to about shoulder length, and spoke in an Scottish accent. He approached the owner of the store, slapping a fat wad of bills on the counter he said:  
  
" I'd like to buy a gun." He spoke. " Large caliber and destructive."  
  
The owner with glee spun and around and pulled a short barreled street sweeper from off a hook on the wall. The trench coated man picked up the weapon and looked it over.  
  
" I'll take it." He said. " But how much for the PCJ-600 outside?"  
  
" It's not for sale." The owner stated simply.  
  
With no mercy the stranger pulled a Sig Sauer from his coat, and emptied 3 rounds into shops owner's face.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	10. Chapter 9: Roland's Rage

River City Blues  
  
Chapter 9: Rolan's Rage  
  
I stayed awake that night, while Oz was sleeping on the futon. We had cleaned and dressed our wounds earlier. Basically I did what I normally did to keep myself busy, I cleaned our weapons and wiped them down. Then I went out into the shop area. As he had said, Gohlke was an insomniac. The pawnshop was open 24/7 and there he sat, reading Rolling Stones again. It was raining outside as usual, and it cast the shop in a greenish glow. As I walked out into the shop area, Gohlke greeted me with a simple nod, I returned it. I walked over to the gun counter, to see what he had to offer. In a glass display case there were a few .45's and a few revolvers, and not much on the gun rack except for a few shotguns.  
  
" How much for Ithaca 37?" I asked him.  
  
" Huh?" He asked looking up from his magazine.  
  
" I asked, how much for the Ithaca 37?" I repeated myself.  
  
" Oh that, it's not for sale." He replied, going back to his magazine.  
  
" How come?" I asked. " It's on the rack."  
  
" That's mine." He said. " I put it up there to attract business."  
  
" Oh." I said, I scanned the display case. " Alright then how much for the Smith and Wesson Model 659?"  
  
Gohlke got up and peered into the display case, he looked up at me and tapped on the case. " That one?" He asked.  
  
" Yeah." I replied.  
  
He slid back a plate of glass behind the glass and pulled to gun out. He handed it to me, the grip facing me. I took it and checked it out, seeing if the sights were lined up. I aimed at a Tv sitting on a nearby self and asked:  
  
" How much?"  
  
" 200." He replied.  
  
" I'll take it." I said back lowering the weapon.  
  
" Yeah but how will you pay for it?" He asked me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a diamond ring. I offered it to Gohlke, he took it and looked it over.  
  
" Nice ring." He said. " It's worth about 400."  
  
" Alright." I replied. " I'll pay with that. Load the gun."  
  
He nodded and took the gun from me, putting a box of nine millimeter shells on the counter. He ejected the gun's magazine, and loaded it. He reinserted the mag and handed it back to me.  
  
" It's a nice gun." He said handing it back to me, I took it and stuffed it in my waistband next to my .45. " 14 rounds, one in the throat."  
  
" Yeah a friend of mine loves the model 659." I replied. " Says it's on of Smith and Wesson's finest."  
  
" Heh yeah." Gohlke replied looking up from his magazine. " When I ran with Grant's crew, I carried a model 4006."  
  
" Really?" I asked. " What did you do in Grant's crew anyway?"  
  
" Hits, car bombings." He replied nonchalantly. " Anarchist type stuff really."  
  
" Interesting." I said nodding my head. " Hey what time is it?"  
  
" 1 in the morning." He said going back to his magazine.  
  
" Right, well I'm going to go watch some TV."  
  
Roland walked into Stoggy's pawnshop at 8:00 that morning. There were black rings under his eyes, and he was pale as hell. Gohlke was still sitting on his perch behind the counter. Roland walked up to the counter and leaned on it on his elbows.  
  
" Ah, Roland." Gohlke said. " You look like hell."  
  
" Where's the Oz man Gohlke." Roland said bitterly.  
  
" I've no clue." He replied, slowly reaching for the Ithaca 37 under the counter.  
  
" Stop shitting me around and tell me where that good for nothing gun runner is you maggot." He said slowly reaching into his coat.  
  
" I'm right here dumbass." Oz said walking into the room, his revolver in hand. " Listen Roland, stop wasting your time and run back to R.H. to tell him what we did."  
  
" I want revenge you punk." Roland spat at him, standing up right. Under his coat, the hand wrapped in the bloody rag rested on the street sweeper grip. " You killed my friends, I'm gonna kill you, you piece of sorry shit."  
  
" I don't think so Roland." Gunner said, he stood in the door way with his Glock drawn on Roland. Roland had a few run-ins with Det. Gunner in the past.  
  
" Listen pig I'm not in the mood to deal with the RCPD today." Roland turned his head to look at Gunner. " Now just go back to the precint, this ain't your call."  
  
" Yeah domestic violence isn't why I came down here." Gunner said. " I came down here to track down some killers. You know that quadruple homicide in the mission district. But now I've been dragged into your childish scuffle."  
  
Roland hated to be referred to as childish.  
  
" STUCK PIG!" Roland screamed whipping the street sweeper out from under his coat. He let loose a barrage of automatic shotgun blasts at Gunner, Gunner ducked behind the shelves and fired back around the corner blindly. Oz jumped behind the counter with Gohlke. Roland seeing this pulled his handgun and fired at the counter in rage. The 9mm's tore through the wood barely missing Oz and Gohlke. Gohlke racked a shell into his sawn off and jumped up from behind the counter, firing at Roland. Roland ducked and fired his street sweeper back at Gohlke, which he ducked back behind the counter. I was watching this whole gunfight from the backroom.  
  
============================================================================  
  
Gunner stalked behind the shelves cautiously, he peered out from behind the TV's and saw Roland, both guns drawn and looking around the room wildly. He could kick himself right now for forgetting his radio in his car. Roland spun around and fired a few more shots from his shotgun in Gunner's direction. The shots hit the TV's in a shower of sparks. Ryan returned fire from behind the TV's. His shots hit Roland in the chest, but didn't phase him. He was kevlar padded and doped up on painkillers. Roland aimed and fired at Gunner, this time one shot hit Ryan in the knee. Gunner fell back and clutched at his wounded knee in pain, his gun dropping to the floor.  
  
Roland dropped his empty street sweeper on the floor and walked around the shelves. He saw Gunner lying on the floor and felt no sympathy for him. Gunner looked on in horror as Roland raised his handgun and spoke:  
  
" Nighty Night you stuck pig." He cocked his weapon.  
  
============================================================================  
  
Just as he pulled the trigger, I barreled into his lower back knocking him over onto his stomach. I hefted up a TV off the shelf and lugged it over his head. I looked down at him, he was curled up and cowering with his arms in front of his face. I threw the TV off to the side and picked him up by the scruff of his neck, throwing him through the front window. Gohlke walked over to me, brandishing his shotgun. He took a look at the window and smacked his forehead. Sirens screamed towards us off in the distance.  
  
" I think we should get out of here." Oz said walking out from behind the counter.  
  
" What about him." I said motioning to the cop on the floor.  
  
" Don't know." Oz said scratching his head. " We still need money, so we should go check if Zaibatsu has any work for us. Gohlke you coming?"  
  
" You two go on ahead." Gohlke said pulling on his jacket. " I'm going across the river to the Southside, go check up on Couri. Man and I thought I was finally settled with this place, but oh well."  
  
" Where's Zaibatsu anyway?" I asked Oz.  
  
" In upper West Heights." He replied. " We can take the L to get there."  
  
We walked out of Stoggy's pawnshop, Gohlke caught a cab while we ran up the steps to the L train platform. The train hadn't arrived yet so we waited on a bench.  
  
" Man I should've never volunteered to work with you." Oz said tapping a pack of ciggaretes on the palm of his hand.  
  
" Wait a second you volunteered?" I asked puzzeled.  
  
" Yeah. I did." He replied planting the sin stick in his mouth and lighting it. " Only to meet the legend."  
  
" Oh so I'm a legend now huh?" I asked.  
  
" Yeah, hell I heard what you did in the Liberty City Mafia." He said puffing on his fag. " You beat the shit out of a SPANK dealer with a Louisville slugger, you protected Tony Cipriani, Luigi and Joey Leone' from a Triad hit squad. And in the end you killed the Don of Liberty City; Don Leone' himself. But now I find out legends can ruin your life."  
  
" Kid, I'm gonna get you some work in Vice City ok?" I said. " Your life ain't ruined yet."  
  
" Oh and how would you know?" He said bitterly.  
  
" Kid let me put this straight, I'm going to hell." I replied. " That pusher I killed down in Portland docks? He had a kid, he was pushing spank to support a family. And frankly I ruined that kid's life."  
  
" Oh." Oz said.  
  
BAM!  
  
A gunshot rang out on the platform. People ran to and fro screaming hysterically. I looked over at the stairs. And there stood Roland aiming his Sig Sauer at me. I reached for my weapon.  
  
" Don't even think about it Vercetti." He said. He cocked the weapon again and pulled the trigger.  
  
SCREECH  
  
The sudden noise of the train squealing to a stop caught Roland off guard. His shot missed, bouncing off the wall behind us. I grabbed Oz by the arm and ran for the train, Roland regained himself and ran after us. We ran through the dismal train cars past all the other passengers. Roland began firing at us again, his shots missing us wildly. The car before the last car was empty as well as the last car. I pushed Oz into the last car, and drew both my guns. Roland walked into the car. He saw me and raised his gun. I took the first shot, emptying my S&W at him. He ducked behind the seat next to him and the doors closed. We were in for the ride.  
  
I put my .45 into my coat and pulled open the side door. Cold wind rushed in from outside, the train was going pretty fast, so I couldn't jump out. I ducked behind the seat next to the door and checked the clip on my .45. 8 rounds with an extra in the chamber, and then one more magazine that made 17 rounds in all. I sighed and poked my head out from behind the seat. I pulled it back quickly as Roland took a potshot at me. I fired back but missed him as he disappeared from behind the seat as well. That's when I noticed the steel ladder bolted on the wall next to the door, it led up into a trap door in the ceiling.  
  
Oz walked into the car, his Revolver drawn. He looked around but didn't see Vercetti or Roland in sight.  
  
" Did that asshole Michael ditch me back at the last stop?" Oz played through his mind. He walked to the other end of the car, and then suddenly-  
  
WHAM!  
  
Roland slammed into him, Oz's gun flew into the window shattering and fell to the ground below. Roland stumbled back into the seat as Oz gave him a right hook, his gun flew out of his hand skidding across the floor. Roland wiped the bloody off of his mouth and pulled a butterfly knife from his coat, slinging it open. He held it blade down motioning towards Oz for a fight. They circled around each other; like rabid dogs, Oz lunged for Roland. He caught him by the knees and lifted him up draping him over his shoulder. Roland raised up the knife and plunged it into Oz's arm. He reeled back dropping the Scot and clutched his arm, falling backwards. Roland picked himself up off the floor and charged at Oz. The Ozman reached down to his ankle and pulled out a .25 auto, and pulled the trigger aiming for Roland.  
  
BAM!  
  
Roland stopped in his tracks and quickly clutched at his ear. He pulled back his hand finding it bloody, Oz had shot his ear off. He looked at Oz with insane anger  
  
" Oh you're going to pay you sick twisted." He was interrupted as the barrel of a .45 dug into his neck.  
  
" Oh so you go around slinging blades now? Huh Roland?" I said to him digging the gun deeper into his neck.  
  
" Oh fuck off Vercetti." He scorned bitterly at me. " Look at my fucking ear!"  
  
" Oh by the way nice shot there Oz." I said acknowledging him. " Listen Roland I'll make you a deal. You leave Oz alone, and I never see your face again and you get to live. Or I pull the trigger on my gun and you get aquainted with what your voice box looks like splattered on the walls."  
  
" Go fuck yourself Vercetti." He spat blood at me. " You ain't gonna get off this train any more alive than me."  
  
" Oh yeah?" I asked him. I tossed Oz Roland's P226 and a pair of handcuffs. " Oz cuff this clown to one of the seats."  
  
" Gladly." Oz replied snapping open the cuffs.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	11. Chapter 10: The last Hit

River City Blues

Chapter 10: The last hit

When the 10:30 a.m. train made it's next stop in West Heights market, they didn't find Oz and Michael Vercetti, instead they found Roland handcuffed to a seat's armrest. A .25 auto in his pocket. The top portion of His ear was missing and was bleeding pretty badly. Roland was arrested for illegally carrying a concealed weapon.

To state the truth Oz and Vercetti were sitting in a stolen Sentinel, outside the South side connecting bridge. In the late morning dusk, inside the leather confines of the Sentinel, Michael's zippo burst to flaming life with a chink and was immediately extinguished. Smoke peeled lazily from the tip of the cigarette, held in between Michael's index and middle fingers, while Oz checked out a cut on his eyebrow in the passenger side vanity mirror. He placed a small white band-aid over the cut after applying a thin coating of Neosporin. Vercetti's knuckles ran white as he gripped the steering wheel impatiently.

" Where is he?" Michael demanded.

" Any minute now." Oz replied checking himself over in the mirror.

" You said that over 30 minutes ago." Vercetti replied. " If we want to get Grant we have to get to the lower business district by 11:30. And right now we only have an hour left and it takes a good 45 minutes to get back over to Eastern River City."

" He'll be here." Oz said staring at the bridge. " Give him time."

" Yeah I'll give him 15 minutes." Vercetti replied. " If he ain't here I'm catching a train back to Vice City."

" Amtrak doesn't rundown that far south." Oz replied. He knew Vercetti couldn't catch a plane outta town, after the incidents in West heights and on the freeway anyway.

" Fine I'll catch a train up to Liberty City and catch a plane from there." Vercetti said. " But either way, if Gohlke doesn't show up in the next 15 minutes, I'm getting the hell out of dodge."

And just as Michael finished that sentence, a battered Admiral pulled up to the gravel lot they were parked in. Vercetti and Oz watched as Gohlke climbed out of the car, and waved towards him.

" That's him let's go." Oz said opening his door. Vercetti followed.

" Hey what's up man?" Gohlke asked as they approached him.

" Ugh." Oz said shaking his head. " Where we go gunplay likes to follow. How's Couri doing?"

" She's fine man." He replied. " She's pissed off at you as usual, gave me the guns and told me she hopes you choke on a bullet. Anyway she wants 1500."

Oz reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills (which he had just recently "liberated" from an ATM machine) and peeled off three 500 dollar bills. He held them out to Gohlke who graciously accepted them.

" You don't wanna lend us a hand?" Oz asked as Gohlke lugged a battered trunk out of the backseat of his car.

" No man." Gohlke replied dropping the trunk on the ground. Inside it you could hear metal clanging together. " Couri invited me to live with her until I got my shop back, so I can die a happy man now. Besides what you buy is what you own, and what you own comes back to you eventually."

" Alright man." Oz replied as Gohlke climbed back into his car. Heheld out his hand and Oz shook it.

" Watch out for the bullets man." Gohlke replied starting up the car. " And I'll see you around."

" Not if I see you first." Oz replied grinning crazily.

Gohlke just laughed and drove off back to the South side. Maybe Oz would run into him again someday.

Or maybe not.

At 12:01 p.m. that day, life literally fell apart for R.H. Grant.

Grant had heard about Vercetti and Oz killing Sergei Klasnikov in the lower West Heights, Yakuza territory. He had heard about the freeway incident, where 3 of his best men had died. He had heard of the Stoggy's pawnshop shootout, only a couple of blocks away from where the Russian mobster king had met his timely demise. He'd heard about the shoot out on the docks, the shootout at the café (instigated by him of course, but only to place the blame on the Vercetti family) and the explosion of the abandoned pay and spray near the train yards.

The cops would trace these events back to him. They were already investigating the gangland style executions in the mission district.

The Russian mob would trace the murderer of their boss, to be employed by Grant himself. They would come after him with a hit squad, and kill him.

R.H. Grant needed to move his operation, and move it fast. Perhaps down south. He wouldn't try and take down the Vercetti Empire, but work with the Haitians or perhaps from behind the curtains in the darkness. Start a small gun running ring. Eventually when alliances were formed and guards were down, he would attack Tommy Vercetti himself. He already had men watching the operations every move, just like the FBI watched him in the late 90's during the Yakuza/Grant turf wars.

At 11:55 Grant had loaded up his stuff into 5 large, black 4-door SUV's behind his current hideout, the old Jazz Club. He got in the middle SUV of the five. Roland sat in the back seat next to him as Holden sat in the front passenger seat next to the driver. Two of his best bodyguards, they would give their lives for him. Roland wasn't much to look at anymore, a white, bloodstained gauze pad was taped to his ear, as a thick wad of gauze bandage was wrapped around his hand. Atleast he had time to take a shower, unfortunately he was still wearing the same clothes, as he didn't have time to change after Grant paid his bail in full.

" How the hell did you fuck this up?" Grant asked as he climbed into the SUV, slamming the door shut. " I give you 3 guys, Ak-47's and yet you still can't kill two insignificant people; a two bit gun runner and a street punk from Liberty City."

" They we're more crafty than we expected. Shit that Versetti is a damn good driver." Roland said in his defense, flexing his bandaged hand.

" How much do I pay you Roland? 120 grand a year?" Grant asked loading his Desert Eagle. " You do realize at a salary like that your highly replaceable if you fuck up."

" Fuck you Grant." Roland said as they pulled out of the alley. " Keeping me on fucking door duty for a week. What the hell man, wasting my skills like that. I ought to kick ya ass."

" Try it." Grant mocked waving the Deagle in Roland's face. Roland just let out a snort of disgust.

" There they are." Oz pointed out to Michael as the convoy pulled out from behind the Club. " You know the plan right?"

" Yeah." Versetti said slapping a magazine into his Ak-47, and checked the straps on his kevlar vest. Sitting in the back seat of the sentinel were two loaded RPG 7's. Oz snapped back the action bolt on his Ak-47, he had traded his hoodie for a black trench coat and a kevlar vest over a white t-shirt underneath.

" Mike before we go out guns blazing, there is something I want to tell you." Oz said as they finished checking over their weapons.

" What?" Versetti asked cocking both of his .45'sat the same time with his thumbs and shoving them back into his jacket. They both had H&K Tactical grenade launchers slung over their shoulders.

" Those guys in the mission district that we hit, They weren't any ordinary two bit street thugs." Oz said. " They were undercover DEA."

" Drug enforcement agency?!" Mike asked. " That's some deep shit!"

" Yeah the one you capped through the back of the head with the .44 and the other I blasted in the bedroom. Never had a chance to flash their badges."

" So that's why that cop had come looking for us." Mike said piecing the puzzle together. " They weren't just ordinary street scum."

" Shit let's go." Oz said as he noticed the convoy approach the intersection. He jumped out, followed by Mike, Opening the back passenger side doors on both their sides of the car they pulled out the RPG's. Versetti aimed for the first car across the intersection and fired. The rocket tore out of the launcher, in a thick jet trail of white smoke and tore into the lead SUV. In a ball of fire, the SUV erupted and jumped 3 feet in the air. It landed back down on the pavement as a burned out, smoking shell. Oz took aim at the last SUV and fired. Once again in the same effect the vehicle erupted in a ball of flame.

" Gas masks on." Oz said pulling on a S.W.A.T. style gas mask on, Mike did the same.

" Shit what the fuck was that?!" Grant screamed to his bodyguards after the last SUV was blown up.

" I dunno man." Holden said pulling out his M1911. He snapped the slide back chambering a round. He then pulled out a second one and chambered the round in it. " An RPG?"

Suddenly canisters of tear gas flew out of nowhere and hit the side of the suv's, bouncing off and landing on the ground with a clang. Releasing gray smoke everywhere. Soon several more cans landed on the pavement around the convoy. The area was filling up with smoke.

" We gotta…COUGH…get the fuck out of 'ere!" Roland said choking on the gas. They we're all coughing hoarsely as Grant stretched over the back seat and rummaged around a bit, coming back with four gas masks. He handed them out to the driver, Holden and Roland and strapped one on himself.

" It's tear gas! Put your masks on!" Grant shouted, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. They all did what they were told to. There was smoke all around so thick you couldn't even see. Like on a foggy day in Liberty City. There was light smoke drifting inside the car, just being able to see. Slowly, a few of the ugys in the other two remaining cars crawled out wear gas masks and armed with AK's and SMG's. Grant pulled back the slide on his Desert Eagle, as Roland pulled out a Mac 11 and snapped back the bolt. Vaguely through the smoke, Holden could see the outlines of two figures walking towards their SUV caught in the intersection. He noticed them raise their weapons.

" Shit get down!" Holden screamed as a barrage of Ak-47 fire was unleashed on the vehicle, the rounds tore through the windows, shattering them. The hail of gunfire massacred the driver whose side was facing the shooters, and who was unknown to Grant. Holden, Grant and Roland had ducked in time; avoiding a timely demise.

" Bastards!" Grant screamed back in retort, firing his Desert eagle blindly at the two shooters. Roland and Holden immediately joined in, sitting up and firing back. The sounds of automatic gunfire, mingled into a rhythmic tone with the guns firing outside in the thick field of smoke, From the other members of the Grant crew.

" We gotta get out of 'ere!" Roland screamed over the rattle of automatic fire. He let out a few more short bursts of automatic fire from his Mac11. " Who are they?!"

" Probably the Russians!" Holden retorted from the front seat, as he fired the last remaining rounds in his .45's. He ducked down as bullets whizzed past his head everywhere, and reloaded. " There's more coming, I can feel it."

Roland kicked open his side door, which was the side facing away from the shooters. He crawled out and crouched down low on the pavement, followed by Grant.

" Roland, get Grant outta here, I'll help hold them off." Holden yelled through his window. Roland nodded through the mask and dragged Grant over to a door, which led to a trade's alley behind a 3-story grocery/ duplex. He tried the knob.

" Shit it's locked!" Roalnd yelled with a gas mask muffled voice.

" Lemme try mine." Grant said reloading his Deagle and aiming for the lock.

BLAM BLAM BLAM!

Sparks from the metal as the .357 rounds tore through the lock. The door creaked open at about an inch.

' Let's go!" Grant shouted, Dragging Roland inside.

Holden didn't had much time left. He was still pinned down in the SUV, with maybe 2 or 3 clips left. And the guys from the others cars were being mowed down fast, which all was left was maybe the rattle of 2 or 3 AK's left. After that he was SOL, so he would have to fake dead to get away alive. Some more machine gun rattle and two more shooters were gunned down. One left it sounded.

" Looks like I'm gonna have to get out of this spot." Holden said to himself in a whisper. His breathing sounded heavy through the gas mask, and the gas was starting to clear up a bit. He pulled down the latch on the door and pushed it open slightly, he could hear sirens approaching in the distance. He crawled down onto the ground, with his legs still in the SUV, face up. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small red packet and began tearing it open, when a Trench coated guardsman wielding a stock folding AKM limped around the corner. He had taken his gas mask off and was coughing heavily, clutching at a wound in his side. He looked at Holden with regretful, pain filled eyes. And then;

RATATATATATATA

A burst of AK fire ended his life violently, which threw him to the ground. Blood poured freely from his wounds onto the cement. The area had become quiet, except for the sirens. Someone began walking around the cars, their feet crunching on broken glass.

Shit.

Holden tore open the blood pack and smashed it under his head against the concrete. The IV splattered everywhere and he stared up at the sky, holding his breath. The smoke was clearing up fast. The two shooters walked up to him and looked down.

" Who is it?" The one sporting a leather jacket said, Holden didn't recognize the voice.

" It's Spencer Holden, he ain't dead." The other said, his voice was very familiar, even through the muffled gas mask he wore. He gave Holden a swift kick to his ribs. " Get up."

Caustiously Spencer got up, blood dripping from the hair on the back of his head. The one that had kicked him aimed his AK at him, making sure he wouldn't try anything. Spence just looked at him.

" Where'd Grant go?" He asked, prodding Holden with the barrel of his gun. " You tell me and we won't kill you?"

" Oz, that you?" Holden asked peering at the trench coated through his gas mask. " Wow you must be pissed to attack Grant like this."

" Yeah it's me, tell me where Grant went."

" Through there." Holden replied motioning with one of his .45's towards the trades alley door." Be careful though because Roland is with him."

" Thanks." Oz said back turning about. He motioned for his partner to follow. " C'mon Versetti let's go."

Versetti? Holden wondered. Michael Versetti? He shook the thought from his head and jumped into one of the unoccupied SUV, pulling out of the stopped convoy he drove off, away form the violence and the sirens.

" Keep moving!" Grant shouted as he and Roland ran through the trash bag and Dumpster ridden alley. Past locked and barred rusting steel doors. They reached the end of the line, a 8 foot tall chain link fence in front of a wooden slat fence, topped with razor shard barbed wire. In front of it was a heap of full black trash bags. And against the wall next to it a green dumpster. On the opposite was a dead bolted door, which read STORAGE. The dead bolt was on the other side. Footsteps were approaching from the other end of the alley.

" Give me that." Roland said snatching Grant's desert eagle away by the barrel. He aimed at the door and fire.

BLAM BLAM!

" Go!" Roland said handing the Deagle back to Grant and pushing him through the door. He slammed the door shut behind him, and piled a few trash bags and cardboard boxes in front of the door. He looked down the alley and saw the two shooters coming after him.

" Shit."

He crouched behind the Dumpster and some boxes and got his MAC 11 ready. He fired a few bursts at the shooters, they fired back.

"AGH!" Roland screamed as a round hit him in the shoulder, knocking him back. He dropped his SMG and landed on the ground, whimpering. Blood started pouring from his open gunshot wound, but luckily the bullet had torn cleanly through. He pulled a rag from his pocket and pressed it onto his wound, and ran a hand through his long, banana curl hair and watched as the two shooters walked up to him and looked down on him. The tear gas had cleared up and they tore off their gas masks. He should've known, Oz and Vercetti.

" Roland we're not going to kill you." Oz said, while Vercetti aimed his AK down upon him. " That is only if you comply with what we ask. Understand?" Roland weakly nodded his head.

" Where is Grant?" Oz asked. Roland pointed to the storage door. "Is he armed?"

" Yeah."

" With what?"

" .357 Desert Eagle."

" Any other guys with him?"

" No."

" Okay, good." Oz said. " You just bought the rest of your life. Oh one more thing."

He gave Roland's wound a heavy stomp. Roland howled in pain.

" That's for my car."

Grant hurried down the steps past the door, slamming a fresh clip into his .357 as he did so. The storage room was only a small, dimly lit pantry lined with shelves containing bags and canned foods on the both sides. He ran to the steel door opposite the stairs and tried the knob, it was chained and pad locked from the other side.

" Shit, not again." He muttered under his breath. He heard feet running down the steps behind him. He aimed his Deagle at the stairs, just as Oz reached the bottom.

" Die!" He screamed at Oz and pulled the trigger.

BLAM BLAM BLAM!

Oz fell back, the shots missing, he fired back at Grant with his AK. The machine gun rattle echoed off the cement walls of the storage room, as the rounds tore into Grant's chest and stomach, staining his white suit crimson. He fell back and landed in some boxes in the corner.

Oz got up and walked over to him, followed by Michael Vercetti. They both looked down at him and raised their .45's.

" Nighty night Mr. Grant." Versetti said as Grant looked down the barrel of the .45.

BLAM!

And H.R. Grant knew no more.

" So you gonna be okay kid?" Mike asked him while they sat in the River City Airport terminal. They could now take a plane out of the city, and had dropped their guns off into the River.

" Yeah I'll be fine." Oz replied." I got a friend up in Liberty City I can crash with, in the Red light district. So don't worry about me."

" Well here take this just incase." Vercetti said handing him two wads of 100 dollar bills." I found it on Grant after we killed him. It appears that it is also what is left of the cash I brought with me here, and I had lost. Grant had never laundered any of it. Probably sold off all of the cocaine too, so Lance will be pissed, but it's his fault in the first place."

" Wow thanks." Oz said running his finger over the edge of the bills.

__

" River City to Liberty City, NewYork, flight 1011 now boarding." Came a voice over the intercom. Oz sighed and got up.

" Well give me a call when you get there." Mike replied standing up and shaking Oz's hand. Oz nodded.

" Well I'll see you around." Oz said turning towards the loading gate as passenger's filed in.

" Not if I see you first kid." Mike shouted back as Oz walked towards the gate, he just replied by waving over his shoulder and chuckling.

" Guess my next stop is Vice City." I said to myself turning away form the gate and walking across the terminal to my own loading gate.

And that was the tale of River City blues. A story of greed, deception and the Gun Running underworld.

And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

__

Today at 12:01 P.M. today, a firefight between the Grant mob organization and an unknown party; most likely the Russian Mob, erupted in the lower business district. Police had found several Grant crewmembers dead killed by gunfire. They had found H.R. Grant himself shot dead in a storage pantry not far from the scene in the basement of the nearby grocer. Along with the carnage, empty shell casings and dead gangsters; the police also found hundreds of illegal firearms, explosives, laundered money, personal items and dangerous narcotic substances in the black SUV's of which the mob party were traveling in.

Police are speculating that Grant was moving his operation to get away from the Russian Mob. Led by the recently late Sergei Kjalashnikov; who was killed along with several of his men in an explosion the other day in the lower West Heights area, by two hit men believed to be hired by Grant. Which it's intentions were to loosen up the competition in the black market gun running ring. But actually only created a mob war between the two parties. The strange thing that puzzles the police is that Sergei was killed in territory claimed by the Yakuza Japanese Mafia. The assailants who killed the Russian mobster are suspected ot be known only by their alias' as "The Ozman" a well known black market gunrunner and " The liberty City Butcher" famous for the Mafia killings back in mid-fall, 1999. Both suspects both remain at large.

THE END?


End file.
